Dawnsteel: Chronicles of the Ash
by lunarpetals
Summary: Malakros, a humble merchant, gets his world turned upside-down when he refuses to make deals with smugglers. Forced to once again take up a life he had renounced long ago, Malakros embarks on a corpse-paved warpath. Pre- and Post-ToB.
1. Introduction

"_How well can you trust a wraith? Or better yet, why would you?"_

Dawnbrook.

Population: approximately a century and a half heads.

Some seventy miles southwest of Windspear hills. Nestled amongst pine, rivers, and cliffs alike, this cozy little town was once an elven settlement before the Time of Troubles. The scenery makes it popular a tourist spot, as well as a haven for druids, rangers, and other followers of nature, and its historical background hints link to hidden wealth. Indeed, with its friendly locals and unmolested environs, Dawnbrook is one of those places one could dub a 'paradise'.

****

"Thank you for your patronage." He said as he handed the old lady her purchases. "Have a nice day, madam."

"Ah, bless ye, sonny!" the elder bowed as she went on her way. He watched as another batch of customers left his shop with a look of satisfaction on their faces. It was a common sight, true, but it was a sight he would welcome any day.

"Let's see now," running through his wares in a quick inventory check. "Rope, arrows, flint… that should do it." He hummed merrily as he reorganized some of his goods that have been misplaced about due to curious hands. "It seems I'm low on cured beef, as well."

Though strange a case, but not unheard of, Brook's Dame was one of the "rarer" types of stores available in the small town of Dawnbrook. It was thrice more spacious on the inside, betraying its façade. But that's not what it was known for. What made it so was that it carried both military wares and general merchandise under one roof. Usually, traders would prefer to sell but one kind of product so as to save time in organizing and managing what they deal. Nobody has that much patience in imagining, let alone trying, juggling between meat and spears. Yet, despite the unusualness of the establishment, it still manages to find itself to be the most frequented spot in the whole market strip.

A gust of wind, and the rustling of curtains, some minutes had flown by, and the merchant caught sight of somewhat expected visitors: a good dozen panoplied men, militia, apparently, entered the shop. They formed a uniform file before Malakros's desk, stationed and unmoving, as their superior, he who was dressed just a little better than the rest, stepped forward.

"Good day, sir." The soldier bowed slightly as a salute. "On behalf of sir Millsway, I greet thee."

"Good day to you all, as well. And in what manner can I be of service to your good selves, hmm?" Malakros bowed slightly.

"We bear message of business propositions, good sir."

"Please, do state."

"Well," the captain paused a bit. "I believe you're rather familiar with this one, sir."

"Oh, no, not this again." He chuckled, scratching his head.

"Yes, sir. Lord Millsway would like to request for your assistance with the departing caravan. He believes that your presence would inspire those who wish to venture into entrepreneurial prof—"

"With all due respect to you and your lord," Malakros politely cut the soldier short, raising his hand. "But you and I both know that's not what he's after. If he truly wants to inspire new blood, he better stop using me as a branding rod." The marketer finished with a wink. He could see the guard grin beneath the iron mask that was his helmet. "Go and tell him that I'm preoccupied at the moment," he dismissed. "And get yourselves some flasks of ale. They're right there, by the swords. Don't worry, they're on me."

"Thank you, sir!" a couple of the men voiced out.

"Brings me back…" the shopkeeper sighed as the last of the guard had exited, glancing at the suit of armor that hung on the rack behind him. "Horizon's Glaive."

Most people would wonder why a lad such as him would choose to sit behind a merchant's counter than go build a reputation for himself as either a warrior or bard. He was good-looking, and he was well versed in the arts of war, being raised in a barracks. Well, indeed, he could take up either profession. He certainly met the requirements. But what he had right that moment was something he came up with from pure choice. If people knew him deeper, they would understand that he had been through that kind of lifestyle, of sword and of song, albeit even though just for a short season. He had seen, tasted; felt everything associated to what those around him called the "perfect" of all modus vivendi. He detested the fruit it bore, and he detested the chaos it wrought his direction. And he did not like it. At all. He had enough, and he, who went by the name of Malakros, firmly believed that he could help others without resorting to the blade.

It was a good seven summers ago, when Malakros was the head of the Horizon's Glaive, an order devoted to Fharlanghn, god of travel. They were well-known throughout neighboring towns as the best merchant guards, being able to defend numerous caravans at once and drive back any form of attack thrown at them. These skilled warriors have repelled bandits, gnolls, orcs, and at one time, even a dreaded black dragon. Despite the praises, they never lost sight of their code. The founding members: Malakros, and his good friends Mayra and Gabriel, firmly believed that they should put their skills to good use for the benefit of all, without asking for anything in return. They were champions of valor and good will, and nothing could stop their campaign of right. Indeed, to him, those were the good old days.

He was about to continue with his reminiscence, until a certain someone burst his thought bubble.

"Good tidings, kind merchant." a woman popped in, dressed in finery, and her beautiful face outlined by some three necklaces studded with precious rock.

He gave a casual nod to the newcomer, and grinned. "To what pleasure do I owe the maiden for her presence?"

"Oh, cut your flatteries!" she blushed.

"You look cuter when embarrassed." He laughed heartily. "So, what brings you here, my lady?"

"Just passing through, my friend. Yet another pleasant day for business, aye?"

"So you disrupt my trip down memory lane to ask a silly question, huh?"

"Oh, you know me." The lady giggled. "So… market day's treating you well?"

"It's good, yes. People keep on coming. Profits are good this moon."

"Profits?" the lady chuckled in friendly tease. "Come on, man, what could be profitable in the way you run business?"

"I don't see anything wrong with my operations." He raised an amused brow. "Do you?"

"Three gold off per ten gold? What you're doing isn't even covering the basic cost of the materials."

"Oh, and I thought you suspected me of piracy, or something similar." He grinned. "It hardly matters to me. As long as they continue to support me, then all's even, right?"

"Malakros." She sighed. "You'll never get to be an ace in the business if you go on like this."

Indeed, most would find it strange that a salesman would be more interested in losses rather than gain. Ten percent off would be the most reasonable, and the most realistic option. But three decennaries off was something others of the same trade as he would consider insane. Still, despite criticism and ridicule, he held on strong with his decision. Gold mattered not to him. His fares made ends meet, and that was already something of satisfaction to the humble merchant. And more importantly, his dealings brought him genuine respect—something no amount of gold could purchase.

"I see my words are lost in you." the woman shook her head, her tone marked with strains of all-too-familiar disappointment. "Very well, then. I'm off."

Malakros remained silent, instead giving a nod and offering a sincere smile in response, which still managed to disarm her.

"I'll see you around then, my friend." But before she could take leave, the sound of bustling and cheer, hearty chatter and the like, was headed her direction. She turned to her man-of-affairs friend with an excited gleam in her eye. No doubt. "Seems like you've got more company!" And then she went.

****

A well group of six—obviously adventuring—people spilled into his abode. Before anything else, Malakros cast some discreet yet discerning glances to study his guests. Judging by how they look, it was certain that they were accomplished. The party literally screamed "magical equipment!". He was very sure that the strangers carried a considerable wealth with them.

"Come on! If you want to buy that mace you keep on picking up, then just get to it!" a pink-haired girl pressured.

"Do not rush me, my friend!" The lean, bald, and heavily tattooed man huffed. "Minsc and Boo must first determine the craftsmanship of this fine weapon, to see if it will last as I drive my boot up evil's buttocks!" his zeal resounding with the squeaking of what Malakros determined as coming from a small animal, probably a rodent of sorts.

"Would you two behave yourselves," came another woman's voice. Her accent, though robust, emanated authority and grace. He took a quick look.

"Half-elven?" Malakros mused, a faint smile spread across his lips.

"Oh, Jaheira, would you loosen up?" the girl from a while ago answered, holding one of the daggers up for sale, and apparently made it "vanish" with a flick of the wrist, which made Malakros grin.

Peripheral vision caught the second half of the merry troupe. Standing by the doorway was a hooded figure, though identifiably female. The mystery woman was motionless, save for the very sparing shifts in stance every once in a while. She was totally concealed, or at least she thought she was. A few digits slipped out from her loose sleeve. Skin, a bit off from pale blue of sorts, caught Malakros's attention.

"Drow?" gasped, and squinted, but immediately turned away as instinct told him that she was starting to be aware of his sight-seeing.

More discreetly this time, he returned his vision to where it was before. Some three feet away from the Underdark denizen he had recently spotted was a middle-aged man clad in regal, steel armor. To the merchant's surprise, the man looked at him squarely in the eye, and chuckled, plainly aware of the observation being made. Malakros merely nodded to accept his little defeat.

The final member of the party decided to get out of the building before Malakros could have even gotten the chance to keep an eye on him. It was odd, though. Upon the person's departure, he felt as if a very… dark… presence had dissipated.

"Well, then," he said to himself. "They seem a handsome enough sort."

Formulating his thoughts—what to say, and when—he got up from his roost to approach potential buyers, with arms wide open. "Welcome," he bowed in salute. "Welcome to the Brook's Dame."


	2. Introduction pt 2

"Anything that fancies you?" Malakros pulled his hood back, allowing the brown bulk of fabric extension to mesh in with the rest of his cloak.

He who bore purple tattoos stepped up. "Ah! I would like to ask about this wonderful club! It seems to be very well made! Perfect for cracking skulls of evildoers and monsters alike! How many pieces of gold would you require a hero such as me?" he ended with enthusiastic bellow.

"You've got a good eye, my large sir." The trader nodded. "A fine piece of weaponry, indeed. I'm willing to let it go for two hundred gold."

"Two hundred gold?" the hulk cried in bewilderment. "Outrageous! Unbelievable!"

"Is something the matter?" Malakros took a step back, a bit worried.

"A weapon of such fine craftsmanship cannot be let go on such a small fee, my friend! Boo is against it, and so am I! It could end up in the wrong hands of evil!"

"Oh?" Malakros sighed in relief. He thought the man was still going to haggle further down. He couldn't help but smile at the man's iron zeal. Sure, the man may seem to be a bit of an imbecile, yet somehow, he envied such passion. "Then seize the chance first, good sir," he went with the flow. "At the cost of nothing but a reasonable weight of coin!"

"I like the sound of that deal!" both broke out laughter.

"Just put in on the counter, my good man. I'll wrap it up later when you are ready to leave." He nodded as the ranger went to meet their companions by the door.

"An odd man, but a good soul." The fairfolk descendant came from behind. "Sometimes I wonder how he came to be a ranger."

"Great things often come in the strangest forms." A thin smile formed from his graceful lips. "So… what brings you to our marvelous little town?" Forgive me, but I wasn't really expecting new faces to drop by." He couldn't help but grin with embarrassment.

"Do you find strangers a bit unsettling?" came an answer from the half-elf. Jaheira was her name, if he recalled correctly. "You speak as if you're one to filter who goes in and out of here, correct?"

"Not at all." He shrugged. "I was just wondering, though. Tourist peak season is still twenty weeks away. Rarely do people go off-course from the main roads."

"You needn't treat us like vacationers, my good sir. We are merely passing."

"I see, then." The merchant rubbed his chin. Somehow, he felt awkward, and decided to melt the building ice by pretending to be scanning his wares for flaws. Well, that could've worked if he hadn't been facing her direction.

"Forgive me for being blunt, but instead of staring at us, would it be okay if we, your customers, would ask for assistance? We still have quite a long way to go, and do not wish to tarry."

"Oh, my apologies." He bowed "In any event, I am sorry to have kept you, so please, do let me know how I may be of aid."

A few scores arrows, some lengths of rope, and a couple of rations later, the purchases were done. He put all of their things in a neat sack, making sure to arrange them in such a manner that they were to survive transit. "Done and done!" he proclaimed, obviously pleased with himself.

"Hmm. I see now why they recommended this place to us." Jaheira nodded in affirmation. "A pleasure to have done business with you…" she paused. "I am sorry, but I never got your name."

"Malakros. My name, that is." he smiled. "Pleased to meet your acquaintance."

"Ah. Well, then, thank you, sir Malakros."

"Aye." He handed her the goods and change.

She turned and headed for the door, strong arms carrying the weight as if they were nothing.

He kept his eyes glued to the door. He was smitten, to sum it up.

"I have to admit, she is rather pretty." Purred a voice from out of nowhere, catching Malakros off guard and almost jumping out of his seat. The noblewoman from earlier had returned. How she ever managed to slither into his shop without him ever noticing would remain as a mystery to him.

"What in the hells, Freyah?!" he couldn't help but thunder.

"Oh, did I burst your thought bubble yet again?" she grinned. "Rarely do I see you this magnetized towards a woman, especially a customer."

"Oh, would you pike off." He jeered. "She's... well, like you said, she's just a customer, that's all." A tone of seriousness suddenly rang in his voice. "She'll be gone in a while, out of Dawnbrook in no time."

"Indeed, she will be off sooner or later," she paused and gave him a questioning look. "But not quite out of your mind, am I right?"

"D-don't be silly."

The lass gave him an amused look. "Well, well, well. Seems to me that _you _look cute when blushing, as well. You've got a keen eye, merchant."

"Oh, come on!" he waved his fist defiance, trying to wipe off the sly grin painted across her face. But in the end, the lady Freyah proved resilient. "I'm serious. There's no point in me chasing anyway."

"Yes, but I see the disappointment in your face."

"Nah. I'm a realistic fellow, my friend." He got up and clapped her shoulder. "I will not lose sleep over this."

"That's the attitude." She winked.

"So, what news do you have for me today?"

"A new caravan just pulled up, but I guess you already know about that."

"No, not really." He shrugged. "Anything interesting?"

"Oh, you know, a couple of trinkets here and there," she then went to face Malakros, giving him a teasing smile. "And a half-elf, as well."

"Do tell." He went on as he perused through his wares, apparently missing the mark.

"Well, she's got dreamy golden locks,"

"Uh-huh."

"Beautiful eyes…" she fluttered her own in the process.

"Indeed?" he picked up one of the axes for sale, tapping its razor edge with the tip of his finger.

"She's travelling with a group. Six of them, last I counted."

"Oh? Must be a busy group, I must say."

Freyah wasn't sure if he was being coy, or simply being stupid. But either way, his actions were no longer amusing. She spoke again, this time, a little harder. "And another thing: I hear they just came from your shop."

"Really? I must have missed them. I've had a lot of buyers today." The faint tone of—seemingly mocking— disappointment, as well as the jiggling of coins, irked the pretty woman all the more.

"And I have her name." she started to growl and crack her knuckles.

"That's great." He yawned. "I'm a little famished. Want to come with me to the pub? I hear Marook's cooking his specialty today!"

"You jackass," Freyah snapped. "I'm telling you that Jaheira is with that caravan!"

Malakros just stared at her, blankly.

"Well?" she flailed her hands, stepping to and fro as she proceeded with her monologue. "What do you think you're supposed to do? Just stand here? No! You've got to move! You've got to—"

But when she spun to face him once more, she was already alone with naught but a swinging door left in Malakros's wake.

****

"Here…?" Malakros panted as beads of sweat trickled down his unblemished forehead, guided by rich strands of lustrous black hair. Deep, almond eyes darted from side to side, years of intense ocular training hidden beneath allowing him to scan the room as quick as a blink.

"Oh…" He could only sigh. The place was near empty, save for a couple of the regulars.

"Oy, boss, what ye be doin' here this time've the day, aye?" greeted the barkeep, a dwarf, in hearty welcome.

"Ah, nothing. I was just… passing by."

"Bah! I can tell by the looks've ye that ye were to be expectin' some'un." A grin blossomed beneath the ale lover's thick beard.

"It's nothing, Jorlak." Malakros closed his eyes and breathed deep. "Tch. What a shame."

"Aye, whatever it is, hop on in and grab yerself a nice swig of mead, aye, boss?"

"I'd like that." The merchant nodded.

"So, what made ye drag yerself out into the heat of the day, boss? I heard ye were busy with this caravan business, or so I heard from Freyah?" the short but stocky fellow poured Malakros his drink.

"Indeed, you heard correct." He lifted his mug to a toast. "Another reason I came here."

"Truly?" the dwarf asked. "I mean, what merchant's business could be possibly 'eld 'ere? All we've gots in'ere are stumblin' drunks and wenches." He continued to guffaw. Malakros couldn't deny the truth in that statement. "Or this be about a lass, aye, boss?"

"Well…" his grin betrayed his inconspicuousness.

"Bwahaha! Looks like the boy's finally grown up, aye?" the bartender cheered. "I remember yer pappy comin' 'ere before as well, with the same situation in 'is 'ands! Hahaha!"

"True that." He could only agree. "But looks to me she's not here, sadly."

"Pfah! Don't loosen yer grip just yet, lad. Mind tellin' me what she be lookin' like?" the dwarf tried to encourage him. "So I can tell ye if them's been 'ere or not."

"Well," he recalled. "She's half-elven."

"Bah!" came a scoff. The earthdwellers were well known to be not so quite fond of the fairfolk. But Malakros just gave him a plain look that clearly told the good dwarf to cut it out. "Anyways," the barman cleared his throat. "Half-elf, ye say? Come ta think've it…" he scratched his chin. "I remember seeing one just a couple'a minutes passed. She happen ta be part've a group, lad?"

"Yes!" Malakros nodded excitedly. "So they did pass this way?"

"Aye, aye. They did. Bu they also just left. Sorry 'bout that, kid."

"When?" he tried to pry one last bit of information.

"A couple o' minutes before ye yerself got 'ere."

"Damn." He chugged his drink down furiously. "I'm too late, as always!"

"Don't be so hard on yerself." the dwarf pat the young man on the back. "How'd ya come to know 'er, anyhow?"

"She was a customer." Malakros confessed. "A pretty one, to boot."

"Ye chasin' after strangers?" Jorlak chuckled. "That's strange."

"And you know me?" the merchant replied with a grin.

"Better than that Freyah lass, that's fer sure!"

Malakros reflected on that statement as a new serving of alcohol filled his mug. Of all the people in Dawnbrook, Jorlak was the one who had stuck with the merchant ever since the beginning. While they weren't stitched together like the cliché buddy pairings like those in tales of old, their frequent, albeit short acquaintances over the seasons proved bonds that withstood that tests of time.

"You got that right." He grasped the dwarf's shoulder.

"Bah. Just let it go, lad. If ye two're meant ta be together, then she'll come 'round, sooner'r later, one way'er another, aye?"

Malakros simply smiled.


	3. Introduction pt 3

"So, Jaheira," Imoen strode beside the druid. "It's a rare occasion that you get to smile, nowadays."

"what are you getting at, girl?"

"Oh, nothing," the thief played innocent. "That merchant was a cute one, wasn't he?"

"Who? Malakros?"

"Oh!" Imoen squealed in delight. "So you did manage to get his name! Oh, that is so nice!"

"What?" Jaheira sputtered. "What does that suppose to mean?"

"You've got a crush on him, dontcha?" the pink-haired girl nudged relentlessly.

"Foolishness." Jaheira tried to brush the topic off. "I'm not to be swooned by some stranger we meet in a remote town such as this."

"I guess you're right, then." Imoen shrugged. "Hmm. Looks like the caravan's all ready. Maybe the others have already boarded?"

"Yes, I do believe so. I see no sign of the paladin and the…" the half-elf paused, her face souring. "And the drow."

"Minsc, too." The rogue added.

Several wagons lined up on the worn dust trail. Horses, thundertusk boars, and other similar beasts of burden neighed, snorted, and growled as boredom started to take its toll on their instinct-driven minds. The sun was mid-sky, and the heat was hell of a lot more than merciless. One of the giant boars even dropped unconscious and nosedove into a puddle of mud.

'That's odd." Jaheira paused.

"What is?" Imoen popped her head behind the woman's shoulder.

"I was pretty sure our purchases would have clipped us a good sum. But it appears we've yet an extra six hundred gold more."

"Well, isn't that a good thing?" the young girl chortled. "If you ask me, we owe him a lot more." drawing the dagger she had shoplifted earlier.

"Did you just steal from that merchant? Imoen! Shame on you! He is a good man!"

"Oh, loosen up!" teased Imoen. "It's my profession. Sue me."

"Oh, I hope he does!" growled Jaheira.

"You druids are always worrywarts." The girl winked.

"Imoen! Get back here!" But her words were lost as the rogue melded into the crowd. "Silvanus, contain my temper!"

Jaheira sighed. _That girl needs to grow up some more_ she thought. But was Imoen really to blame, there? Perhaps she was merely enjoying youth. Naiveté, innocence, things that have been lost to Jaheira a long time ago, since the tragedies that struck her, since the death of friends like Gorion, since the death of loved ones--- like Khalid.

"No… snap out of it." She shook her head violently to break free from the bitter grasp of recollection.

"Ah, so there you are, you weak excuse for an "elf"." Called the drow in a manner most insulting. "If you don't mind, gather yourself and haul it up here on the wagon, along with the rest of you sorry louts."

"Hold your tongue, mongrel, lest you want me to hold it for you." Jaheira spat back with equal fire. Viconia took it as even ground, then turning her back to fade off deeper into the containment wain.

"I feel the same irking such as you." a firm hand grasped the druid by the shoulder. "Until now I wonder why our leader chooses to stick with that obsidian fiend."

"Sir Keldorn," Jaheira nodded. "It is good to know that I am not alone in this matter."

"Don't let her taunts get to you, my friend." The man advised. "I know you are one to quickly lose composure, so please, listen to me when I say that you are no better than her should you give in to her provocations."

"Do you really see me as someone vulnerable to insults, good paladin?" Jaheira crossed her arms, losing a bit of faith in Torm's warrior, the way he addressed her with that remark. "I assure you, I am not like that fool to quickly crumble under the weight of ridicule."

"Fair enough, m'lady," Keldorn smiled, much to Jaheira's relief. "Fair enough. In any event, I will go ahead. Do make haste to board. Our travels must resume quickly."

One man, some in his forties, stumbled out of one of the wagons. He reeked of ale and some other concoction; sweat that gushed out of his glands, attracting a swarm of flies. "All…" he grunted. "Everyone… g'ready ta… bo—", and breaking his fall with dirt and a good amount of rocks.

For some reason, an instance she could not explain, intuition called on Jaheira to look back for one last time, and gaze upon the humble structure that was Brook's Dame. She had no idea why she was so insistent to watch, and wait, despite that their stay barely scratched the surface of time, hoping that that man—Malakros—would show up, and give at least a moment's blink to catch even the slightest of glimpses.

She wondered—and she liked the feeling.

** **

The blackness was stiffening and the air was stale. Numerous creatures scurried across the ice-cold floor. Some drips of water here and there pierced the silence.

"Time to move?" a voice hissed from the shadows as twin, amber eyes shot awake.

"Relax yourself." Scolded another. "Our target's not even here yet."

"Gah! But I am itching to rend some flesh right now!" Barked one more. "I hunger, I say! Hunger!"

"Aye! Human flesh tastes best!" chorused yet another. "The innards, the blood! They all taste so sweet!"

The stillness was no more as the dark congregation began to chatter and cry out their agreements. But the conviviality was short lived as another dropped in on the socializing.

"Enough!" a figure emerged from the dark. "All of you, hold still!"

"Pardon, master." They addressed the newcomer.

"The next to utter another word I will gut with my bare hands, understood?"

Silence meant yes.

"Good! Secure the shipments! We don't want anything going wrong while we transact with the Haelsteel!"

**

It was dim and warm inside the transport. Add to that the shabby construction of the caravan wagons: medium-grade wood planks that show obvious signs of weather and battering, and to serve as shade was a large blanket of flimsy, cured animal hide hastily stitched together. The mediocre excuse for a vehicle was, at least, able to house good dozen heads from the merciless heat of the sun as they traversed great lengths. Aside from the arrogant drow, who apparently took a nap whilst seated on the very edge of the benches, not a single soul was in sight as the two ladies got in.

"Jaheira. I was wondering." Imoen mused.

"Yes? What is it?"

"This has been going around in my mind the past days."

"Out with it, girl." Jaheira snarled, irritated. "I'm in no mood to watch you stare into space. What is it?"

"You see," she sat closer behind the half-elf. "You're single now, and you've got to do something about it."

"You're point being?"

"Explore the possibilities!" the young woman cradled her arms around Jaheira's shoulders. "A beautiful woman such as yourself shouldn't be alone and sowing seeds of temptation into the minds of men!"

"Where the hell did _that_ come from, Imoen?" the druid roared, sounding as if she had shapeshifted into a bear, loud enough that Viconia woke and threw hateful glares at the pair.

"Did you seriously think the men back in the tavern weren't eyeing? You were like a tart in a room full of boys who are craving sweets and at the brink of puberty!"

"That's preposterous, child! Hush, you!"

"Or maybe like a puddle of water in the middle of a hundred thirsty camels!"

"Damn it, Imoen!" Jaheira warned. The woman did not find Imoen's lustful gestures entertaining, not in the slightest. They rang derision in her ears, something she wasn't really fond of. The more she protested, the more the girl chaffed. There must be a way to shut her up!

"Or," the thief-mage dug through her mind to find another tasteless description of the druid's enamor. But before she could finish formulating her next thought, Jaheira's palm interrupted with a quick strike across the face.

"Imoen, I will not tolerate this behavior any longer! Quiet down and show me the respect I deserve!"

"That…" Imoen still could not believe what had just happened. "That was totally uncalled for!"

"You would not listen to reason!" Jaheira shot back. "It seems you would react to violence better than you would with words!"

"Oh, calm down, miss serious! Can't you kid around just a bit?" The rogue's bravado overcoming the half-elf's outburst. "All I was trying to do was help you cheer up!"

"You are not helping!" Jaheira scolded further. "You were simply mocking me!"

"I wasn't! I wasn't!" Imoen's voice crackled—tears.

A sudden feeling of regret washed over the half-elf. She was too harsh with action. She, being older, should have known better. She, being a druid, should have had more patience, especially since the matter was nothing but jeer and mild merrymaking. Imoen was Imoen, after all: perky and sugary sweet. She wasn't really being impolite, Jaheira knew deep down. She lost it.

"Y-you must forgive me." She cleared her throat. "I didn't know what came over me."

"Seriously, don't you think it's about time you moved on?" Imoen exhaled, seemingly having forgiven the incident already. "It's been so long now…"

"It's not that easy, Imoen…!"

"It's not?" the rapscallion voiced disarray. "How so?"

"You cannot just forget someone you loved, Imoen! Understand that!"

"I wasn't telling you to forget about Khalid, Jaheira!" the lass trailed as the druid stomped out of the trailer. "Nobody said you should forget him!"

"Then what _were_ you implying, then? How do you expect me to drop everything I had just like that?"

"All I wanted to say was that you should not keep shying away from possibilities in finding new love!"

"Enough, Imoen! This is ridiculous…!"

Indeed, it seemed to be so. What started as simple nudge to flirt and mingle with all the handsome bachelors about suddenly warped into a debate of love, mourning, loss, and a mishmash of the three.

"What you speak of is not a simple matter, girl." Jaheira breathed deeply as she suddenly melted into an emotional heap. "It's not."

"J-Jaheira…?"

"I know you meant well, child, but please, I ask you, consider my position right now before you say such things."

"I… I'm sorry, Jaheira. I didn't mean to…"

The half-blood assured Imoen that all was okay with but a nod.

"You really miss Khalid, don't you?"

"With each passing day, my friend," Jaheira held the girl's hand.

"I'm really sorry about the way I acted earlier. It's just that, I thought maybe I could help you look up again, you know? You've been walking with your eyes cast down ever since we won our freedom. I just couldn't stand seeing you that way."

"Imoen," Jaheira cleared the troubled look in the pickpocket's eyes. "You are still young. Do not worry about the past. All is forgiven."

In the heat of the moment, Jaheira experience something she had not in such a long time now— the embrace of a friend. Her heart raced with contentment and pride, seeing that her ally had just taken one more step up the path of emotional maturity.

"Come on, we gotta move." Imoen smiled. "We've still got a long road ahead of us."

"Agreed." Jaheira bowed. "Come, then."

"You gotta admit, though," the wizard started once more as they headed back to their ride. "That Malakros guy was kind of cute."

"I suppose you're right." Came a reply of confidence, much to Imoen's surprise. "Maybe we could look for him, then, don't you agree."

She clutched Jaheira's arm as squeals and giggles filled the afternoon air.


	4. Chapter 1

"Is it just me, or is there something… wrong… with this drink? I've barely finished with my second mug yet my head's already starting to spin."

"Nah, ye just be a priss who can't take the good ol' kick o' mead." The barkeep chuckled.

"Oh, shut up you midget grizzly bear," Malakros grunted. "I'm serious. This isn't the same honey-laced bliss as before. An elf could mix up a better batch than this pint of dwarf piss you gave me."

"Bah! Watch yer tongue, boy. Don't getcher pantaloons in a bunch. I haven't done nothin' to yer drink. Just a drop o' business genius, nothin' else."

Jorlak's grin immediately told the Malakros that the dwarf was up to no good. Doing the smartest thing any sane person would do, he spat out whatever of the drink that still lingered in his mouth. "The hells, Jorlak?"

The dwarf slapped a small vial onto the merchant's palm. "Deadair extract, boy. Just a wee drop, mind ye."

"Deadair?" Malakros echoed as he held up the glass against the light, examining the thick brown liquid. He pulled the cork out and passed the rim below his nose. There was no defining odor to warn him of its potency, and immediately he felt his lungs squeezed empty and his consciousness blink. He slapped the cover back on before any more damage could be done.

"Aye, powerful stuff. The bush grows in far off areas in the north. A dram o' sap is enough ta knock a wyrm out cold."

Malakros gasped and hacked as he struggled to get his words in place. "And is there a sane reason why you'd mix something this deadly into a patron's drink?"

"As I said, boy. Nothin' but business genius. Prices've gone up. Mead, beer, ale, the whole lot. Now I ain't got a worry with ye tall folk when it comes to splittin' kegs. Ye prissy bunch ain't no better than elves. It's them half-orcs that's givin' me pause. And recently, some of me kin moved into town. Now that's gonna be trouble."

"I don't get it. Why not just raise prices?"

"Bah! Hearin' that from ye's like hearin' good advice from a madman o' Talos."

Malakros, the merchant who boldly opposed the principles of business and pricing, couldn't help but wince at the statement. Jorlak hit the nail on the head.

"Anyway, for the same reasons as ye, I can't hike the coin. I've gots me a loyal bunch o' drunks who keep on comin' back 'cause they know me ale can still reach their pockets. But dwarves and them half-orc runts can tip back barrels without pause, and that's where the problem is. If I keeps on givin' me stuff at the same prices, then I'd be bled dry."

"I see now." Malakros smiled. "You'd still be giving them their fill, it's just that they'd be easier to knock out, right?"

"That's me boy!" Jorlak clapped the man on the shoulder. "Now, aren't ye supposed to be goin' after that dream girl o' yours? Stop drinkin' already and haul yer ass over to the plaza! She's on the third wagon, just past the weapons merchant."

Malakros raised a slender brow. "And just how in the hells do you know that?"

Jorlak pointed at his ear buried beneath that shock of brown hair. "It's somethin' we call "listenin'", boy, now get yer arse movin' already!"

Malakros got out of the tavern with an unexplained feeling in his chest. He was not really sure if it was the tension, the anticipation of running into that woman, or if it was because of the mead Jorlak had served him. For a split second, the world seemed to wobble uncontrollably. Then he was then pretty sure it was the mead. Malakros shook some of the dizziness away and silently cursed the dwarf and his foul concoctions.

Malakros was beginning to have second thoughts as he sped down the street. He had no idea what to say to that pretty druid, Jaheira, should he manage to spot her. There was absolutely no guarantee the lady would even think of entertaining invites for drink or dinner coming from a stranger such as he. Both barely knew each other, apart from the brief hellos they exchanged back in his shop. Still, it was worth trying. One has no idea of the things he can achieve the moment he decides to challenge the impossible.

The plaza was busiest during midday, and market day merely added to the bustle. Numerous caravan wagons hailing from the different towns, some even coming all the way from the Icewind Dale. Merchants, along with their contingent of guards, showcased their wares. Weapons forged from the best of steel and skill hung on racks, the tempered metal polished to a mirror sheen that gleamed under the bright sun. The mixed scents of exotic spices and perfumes shrouded the marketplace in an intoxicating veil that whisked the senses away off to a slice of paradise. Carpets and tapestries woven from fine silk drew stares from browsers and buyers alike.

During his time in the military he was trained to sharpen his eyes to a level like that of a marksman's. The archery captain once made him wear an eye patch, of which he was instructed to put over each eye alternately every month. As he understood it, it would help him see better in the dark as well. This allowed Malakros the ability to appraise and discern things from considerable distances—a boon to his then future career as a stalker. And it wasn't long before he sighted his game. Jorlak wasn't lying. There, just a few steps away from the weapons on display, stood the woman who had smitten him.

Malakros nearly yelped as someone grabbed him by the arm and pulled him to the sidewalk.

"There you are!" the pink-haired girl screamed. "I knew you'd come looking for her!"

"Eh?"

"You're that merchant guy from Brook's Dame, right? You've come looking for Jaheira!"

"Err… yes. You got that right. Just how is it you know I was going to run after her?"

"Men have that "look" when they're stuck by the lightning bolt of love."

The merchant snickered at the cheesy romance reference as his porcelain visage glowed a rosy red. "Was it that obvious?"

The girl rolled her eyes, grinning. "Would you just stop delaying and man up already? Cross the street, for crying out loud."

"Alright, fine, fine!" Malakros nodded his sincerest thanks. "But yeah, just before I go," he took the young lady by the shoulders and spun her so that her back would be facing him. Without a moment's thought he slid his hand down her waist, right beneath the belt and just mere inches above her right buttock. Imoen's face crimsoned in baffled rage and fought the urge to start casting a spell to rain down meteors on the lecherous merchant! But to her chagrin, it turned out that Malakros wasn't trying to feel her up. He held up a small but ornate dagger and winked before vanishing off into the crowd.

He was about to call out her name when peripheral vision caught something quite out of the ordinary. Figures clad in hooded black robes, and long serpentine staffs in hand. In tow were some barrels with wicks sticking out. The small group stopped for a while. One of them pointed at several directions, then raised his hand up as if calling for attention. Suddenly, there was a flash of light. And then they were all gone. Malakros immediately understood. Surely, they had to be foes

His warning cries was drowned by simultaneous blasts that rocked the entire town. Splinters, glass, and torn steel flew in all directions. Malakros hadn't even gotten to his feet when another explosion tore across the heart of the plaza. Screams of panic and despair filled the afternoon air. Thick smoke blocked out the sun, plunging Dawnbrook into an hour of darkness. Malakros forced himself to stand. The side of his face was covered in scratches. A sizeable chunk of glass was buried deep in his shoulder. Gathering his will he grasped the crystalline barb and pulled it free in one go. Malakros immediately applied pressure on the wound to prevent further bleeding. He whispered a prayer of thanks that it missed his neck's vein. The stench of burning flesh churned his gut. His thoughts raced back to Jaheira. She wasn't far from where he spotted the hooded ones. But upon seeing the devastation, his mind could only fear for the worst.


	5. Chapter 2

"_I haven't seen you smile like this since you and Teal met for the very first time."_

"_Freyah, come on… Don't mention that name anymore, please."_

"_Why? Did that half-elf who passed by your store stir up any memories?"_

"_Not really, it's just that… well…"_

"_Malakros, it's been years. You've got to let it go. Stitch your wounds and—"_

"_I'm not quite ready, alright?"_

"_Then you're not quite a man to be dwelling in the morass of yesterday. You're not yet a man. I doubt you'll ever be."_

"_Shut up…"_

"_Then prove me wrong. I'll bet you a thousand gold that you can't even pry the most basic of information from her, 'cause you're so afraid to drop the past. Hunt her down while she's still in town, and ask her for a few drinks in the tavern, maybe even dinner. I'll cover your tab, even. A thousand gold if you could make her oblige."_

"_Is this what it you think it is? Just a game? I'm not going tangle up that woman's emotions just to prove something, especially to you."_

"_How about proving something to yourself?"_

Malakros snapped from the day dream as he stood in the midst of the devastation. He remembered he was trying to track down Jaheira, to see if she survived the chaos. But he had no idea why that conversation came to mind all of a sudden. "Miss Jaheira! Where are you?"

Groaning and shuffling came from the debris pile to his left. Without hesitation he dug through the wreckage, but his strength wasn't enough to life some of the slabs of wood that piled up. "Help me out here, Jorlak! Hurry!" he called to the dwarf.

"Alright now, stand aside!" Jorlak rubbed his hands together and effortlessly hurled the debris aside.

Malarakros, impressed, asked "What manner of elixir or magical trinket did you use to do that just now?"

"Ain't no mage play here, boy. Don't be forgettin', I was already wrestlin' giant boars a'fore ye were even born. Now, let's quit yappin' and sees if this be that half-elf o' yours." Lifting the last pile of wood did indeed reveal the unconscious and rather battered body of the druid. How she managed to survive such a devastating explosion was beyond the man and dwarf, but it didn't matter to Malakros. The sole fact that she was still alive was enough. If she could gather her senses, if they could patch her up, maybe she could even be of use. Best of all, Malakros thought jokingly despite the urgency of the matter, he could still have a chance of winning that thousand gold pieces from Freyah… provided they made it through the day.

"Miss…" he shook her gently. "Jaheira? Can you hear me?"

"Wh-who…? Imoen?"

Imoen? Malakros thought. It must be a companion of hers. "No, it's me, Malakros. The merchant, remember? Brook's Dame? Come on, we need to get you to safety."

She was barely conscious and suffered some rather grievous wounds as well. "Come on!" Malakros pulled her up. His shoulder acted against him again, but the blood loss had numbed his senses to the point that he just didn't care anymore. "Let's get out of here!"

"Kid, we needs to head back to the tavern! Now!"

"Way ahead of you, Jorlak!"

Each step felt like an eternity of pain, but Malakros reminded himself that he had to get used to abuse and punishment if he wanted to survive. He took Jaheira's arm and put it around his shoulder and walked, or more like limped, as fast as he could.

"Gods, how could this happen… What did Dawnbrook do to deserve such horror?" Jorlak gasped as they strode through the fields of ruin. "Who'd wanna wreck a town as harmless as this?"

"I don't know," Malakros growled. "But rest assured, whoever's responsible is in for a great debt of pain."

Merchant and dwarf hurried down the path as the inn finally came within sight. "Boy! Come on! Hurry up!"

"Wh-what is going… on… Where… Where am I?"

Jaheira was finally coming to. Malakros heaved a sigh of relief as they were just a few more buildings away from the tavern. "No need to worry about that, now! We need to get to safety!" But before he could step any further, another series of blasts not too far from where they stood rocked what was left Dawnbrook. "By the gods, no!"

The wails of the dying sent ungodly shivers down his spine. Dawnbrook was on the verge of eradication. He could not help but wonder who could do such an inhumane thing. He hadn't even the slightest idea of what he should do next.

Jorlak shoved the mechant aside and roughly shook the druid as she fell to the ground. "Half-elf! Where be yer friends? By the looks o' yer group a while ago, ye seemed to be the strong bunch! Tell us! We needs yer help, can't ye see?"

"Hey, hey! What do you think you're doing? She's in no shape to speak, let alone be manhandled!"

The dwarf spat in hopeless rage as he let go of Jaheira rushed back to the inn. "Come on, then! We won't get nowhere if we just stand around here!"

Malakros went to help the druid to her feet once more. "Forgive my friend. What's going on is truly hard for us. We need to move and get you patched up."

His shoulder was reaching its limit and meant to call his dwarven friend for assistance. But just as the worlds flew from his lips, the building before them, the bakery—or what used to be it—burst into a deadly hail of splinters and rock. Malakros quickly shielded Jaheira with his body. He felt his frame weaken as his back was pelted by wood chunks the size of daggers and rocks the as big as his fist. He let out a cry of genuine suffering as the pain finally overwhelmed his shell.

He tried to feel out just how much damage his body had taken. He could feel several large splinters protruding from the left side of his back. He was also heavily bruised. Malakros could swear he had broken a rib or two. His thoughts raced to friends Jorlak and Freyah. The merchant could not help but wonder if they survived the madness that crushed their beautiful town.

Choking dust clouds rose from the rubble. Malakros, no longer able to bear the pain, fell to his knees and crumbled into an unmoving heap. He gathered what remained of his strength and looked back to see if Jaheira was alright.

She wasn't there.

Confusion robbed him of words. He cursed himself repeatedly for letting that woman out of his sight and protection. He couldn't even get her to a safe location. Now he himself was battered and beyond use, lying face first on the dust in a pool of his own blood. He grew mad at himself for his weakness. Malakros forced himself to crawl despite the agony that came as consequence. Every inch he moved spiked the pain to degrees enough to make him pass out.

Malakros wanted to look up, but his last reserves of energy were spent. He couldn't believe it would end like this: so fast, and so meaningless. For a moment, all of the fear he buried up in the past, all of the anger and the sorrow surfaced. And in that instant, he truly wanted to cry it out, no matter how "unmanly" it would make him look to others. He felt shame and uncertainty circle above him like vultures. His pride suffered worse than his body. Malakros felt pathetic for not being able to protect anyone.

Then out of nowhere, he felt something… unusual. Something good. Something comforting. He felt a hand—a lady's hand!—caress his back. Then he heard a familiar voice, that rather robust but lovely accent. "You…! Are you alright?"

"Jaheira?" He wanted to turn and lie on his back and see her face, but even just the thought of doing so wracked him. "I'm… s-s-sorry I… c-couldn't l-l-l… look out after you."

"Quiet down and let me help you." She said. There was still a hint of aching in her tone. "Hold on. This will hurt a bit."

'A bit' was an understatement. Malakros blacked out as Jaheira yanked the spikes off his back. He had never anything so painful his entire life. But there was something about how she pulled those large splinters free. The woman moved with the strength of a warrior, but acted with the precision and grace of a surgeon. Malakros rasped and panted as he struggled to catch his breath. His tunic was drenched with sweat and blood.

"Here," she said. "This will help ease the pain."

He could hear her whisper something. It felt strange. And it only felt stranger when a warmness took over him. His bones crept back to their socks, and the flesh on his back and shoulder mended themselves whole. His blood was flowing again. In an instant, his vitality and stamina were back. He scrambled to his feet, still not believing what just happened.

"You… Healing magics…?"

"I am a force of Nature. She has restored balance in your body, not I."

Malakros could not help but smile at his fortune. "Th-thank you…"

She stood firm as though nothing happened, as if her body had not suffered the same punishment as he. "Think nothing of it." There was tenderness on her face that was not there before. "I should be the one thanking you. You went through all this trouble for someone you barely knew. In any event, let's get going. We've still much to—"

Before she could even finish her reply, the ground trembled, and there was a thunderous roar. A gargantuan figure stormed from out of the shadows and headed straight towards them. Gouts of flame erupted in its wake, incinerating everything in its path. It all happened so fast, not even giving Jaheira time to defend herself. A long, scaly tail as thick as a log struck her from the side, sending the woman flying a dozen feet and smashing through one of the nearby buildings' windows.

Malakros was left to fend for himself, and was at the mercy of the creature. Reptilian, and some thirty feet tall, it had majestic red scales that glistened cruelly under the blood-stained sun. It had a crown of horns that pointed backwards, guiding its beautiful velvety crest. The beast also reeked of sulfur. It studied the merchant. Obviously it saw the man as food, but the drake seemed to be in the mood to toy with his quarry first.

It breathed fire, flames so great that it could melt rock. Malakros did what instinct dictated and threw himself to the side. But to his astonishment, the drake was not even aiming at him. The stream of burning energy hurtled towards one of the buildings. Malakros couldn't help but afford a glance. He saw the building reduced to embers, as well as a few barrels clumped together. Then his mind flashed back those hooded fiends from earlier. Immediately, he understood that they must be containing black powder.

And his guess was proven right when the kegs erupted into flames and exploded with such force that he was knocked off his feet. Finally he understood how the town was reduced to waste in such a short time. The hooded figures must have gated the dragon in the moment they finished laying out the explosives and they themselves teleported out. The only thing he wondered about now was how could the strangers go about the town inconspicuously, and how was it that they knew where to plant the kegs in order to cause the most damage?

But he had to worry about such things later. The dragon had reared its head and seemed intent to skip a snack just kill him outright.


End file.
